By Joanne Harris
A gripping mental mystery performed out in our on-line world, from the bestselling writer of Chocolat and The Lollipop Shoes."Once there has been a widow with 3 sons, and their names have been Black, Brown and Blue. Black was once the eldest; moody and competitive. Brown used to be the center baby, timid and boring. yet Blue used to be his mother's favorite. And he was once a murderer."Blueyedboy is the intense new novel from Joanne Harris: a depressing and intricately plotted story of a poisonously dysfunctional kinfolk, a blind baby prodigy, and a serial assassin who's no longer who he turns out. informed via posts on email@example.com, it is a mystery that makes inventive use of all of the hide, deception and brain video games which are provided through taking part in out one's existence on the net.
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Extra info for blueeyedboy
She says coming down with a certain suspicion, as if he has brought it on himself. ‘I didn’t sleep too well,’ he says. ’ ‘It’ll do you good. Go on – take it,’ she says. ’ And take it he does, as he always does, and its taste is a murky, rotten mess, like fruit and shit in equal parts. And she looks at him with that terrible look of tenderness in her dark eyes, and kisses him gently on the cheek. The scent of her perfume – L’Heure Bleue – envelops him like a blanket. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed for a while?
Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. uk First published in Great Britain in 2010 by Doubleday an imprint of Transworld Publishers Copyright © Frogspawn Ltd 2010 The extract from ‘Buffalo Bill’ is reprinted from Complete Poems 1904–1962 by E. E. Cummings, edited by George J. Firmage, by permission of W. W. Norton & Company. Copyright © 1991 by the Trustees for the E.
She glanced around the parlour, alert for any telltale sign – a smear of dust on the mantelpiece, a speck on any one of Ma’s collection of china dogs – to suggest that Ma might be cracking up. ‘Oh, you know. ’ ‘I brought her a little something,’ she said, handing me a paper bag. ’ She gave her vinegary smile. ‘Looks like you could do with some yourself. ’ I shook my head. ‘No. Of course,’ said Eleanor. No, of course. As if I would. As if Gloria Winter’s boy could ever be involved in a fight. Everyone thinks they know me.